


Reconnecting

by holistic_details



Category: Warehouse 13
Genre: Gen, team fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-31
Updated: 2013-08-31
Packaged: 2017-12-25 04:00:09
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,838
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/948379
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/holistic_details/pseuds/holistic_details
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Children, please,” Artie said, absently cleaning his glasses. “We've only been here seven minutes.” </p><p> </p><p>“That's long enough, isn't it?” Myka said hopefully.</p><p> </p><p>“Mykes, this is family time,” Pete said sternly. “You gotta respect family time.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	Reconnecting

**Author's Note:**

> On one hand, I love team fics. On the other, BANTER IS SO HARD I'M GOING TO CRY.
> 
> Big thank you to willowcabins who went over this for me.

“Claudia, is this really necessary?”

 

“Yes!”

 

“Is Pete –”

 

“Yes! Everybody's there, and everybody's waiting for you. It's our lunch break, Myka.”

 

“There's seventeen pages of inventory left. Seventeen! And that's just what _I_ have to do.”

 

“We only get a shared lunch break once every three months – ”

 

“Due to a flaw in the scheduling! If Artie would just let me fix it, somebody could always be on duty –”

 

“And we are going to spend it eating, not inventorying.” Claudia continued as though Myka hadn't spoken. She pushed a still-protesting Myka into Artie's office and shut the door behind her with a decisive thud.

 

As promised, the rest of the team was gathered inside, sitting in a rough circle in between the computers and the transparent chalkboards, still plastered in newspaper clippings of odd goings-on all around the world. Three kinds of pizza took center stage on a make-shift table (a wide stack of backlogged files from the '60s that Claudia hadn't gotten around to putting in the computerized database, now that she was so often away from the Warehouse learning how to be a Caretaker.).

 

Claudia swiped a paper plate and a slice of the (largely untouched) vegetarian pizza and handed it to Myka with a pointed arch of her eyebrows.

 

“Eat,” she said firmly.

 

“Just give in,” Artie muttered to Myka's right. “She's determined to do this, devil child.”

 

“I'm not a child anymore, Artie,” Claudia called, flopping down on the floor next to Trailer, who whined hopefully at the pepperoni pizza slice in her hand.

 

Myka sat next to Steve, pretending not to see the empty chair next to Helena.

 

“So let's start,” Pete enthused, the half-chewed pizza in his mouth drawing groans around the room.

 

“Chew, swallow, then talk!” Artie barked immediately.

 

“Oh my God, Pete, do you never learn?” Myka set her slice back down, appalled.

 

“Ew,” Steve said, shielding his eyes..

 

“ _Dude_ ,” Claudia agreed.

 

“I don't know – it's a bit impressive that he's able to talk with such a small mouth and so much in it.” H.G. smirked over at Pete.

 

“Hey,” Pete protested, forcing the pizza down with a hard gulp. “I'll have you know that I have a very big mouth.”

 

“That much we know,” Claudia and H.G. said in unison. Claudia laughed delightedly. “All right, H.G.! High five!” She held up her hand expectantly and H.G. touched palms with her lightly. “We'll work on it!” Claudia promised.

 

The computers beeped twice and all heads snapped towards it, with the exception of Claudia, who rolled her eyes.

 

“It's just the routine neutralizer check, guys. That's what the computer does, every day at noon. Which you would _know,_ if any of you ate on time.”

 

“I thought it was my job to mother all of you,” Abigail said, pulling off a scarf as she entered from the umbilicus. “I've got coffees and hot chocolates! And iced tea for Pete.”

 

Myka rolled her eyes. “Pete, just because it's April doesn't mean it's warm enough for iced tea.”

 

“South Dakota's fake spring isn't going to take my iced tea from me,” Pete replied stubbornly, accepting his cup with a smile. He burped loudly. “Excuse me,” he added politely.

 

Abigail passed around the rest of the drinks, taking her seat next to Helena. Myka watched her shoot a friendly smile at Helena and tried not to think about how easily Helena returned it.

 

“Thanks for the drinks, Abigail,” Steve said, prompting a chorus of gratitude around the room.

 

“Thank you,” Helena said last, and Myka turned her attention to Claudia.

 

“So, why have you dragged us all here?”

 

Claudia pouted. “What, you're objecting to quality time together? We haven't seen each other for longer than ten minutes in _weeks._ Let's just sit back, relax, enjoy some pizza and – I don't know, chitchat.”

 

Steve winced. “Claud, no offense, but I can totally live without seeing another living person for the next few days.” Myka shuddered as she recalled their latest retrieval, Fearless Felix's pressurized suit. It caused immense claustrophobia, and Steve and Myka had had the misfortune of finding the artifact during a tornado, trapped in a storm cellar, in _Kansas_ and it – well, it hadn't been pleasant.

 

Claudia's lips set. “We are spending quality time together if it's the last thing we do.”

 

“When did you turn into suburban mom?” Steve mumbled and Myka grinned, jostling him with her elbow.

 

“What did you say? What did you say just now?”

 

“Children, please,” Artie said, absently cleaning his glasses. “We've only been here seven minutes.”

 

“That's long enough, isn't it?” Myka said hopefully.

 

“Mykes, this is family time,” Pete said sternly. “You gotta respect family time.”

 

“And there's suburban dad,” Myka muttered, flopping back against the chair.

 

“I am nowhere near old enough to be your father,” Pete said, prompting an incredulous “What, you think I am?” from Claudia.

 

“If all else fails, we have the perfect suburban dog,” Abigail cooed, tossing a pepperoni slice for Trailer.

 

“What is everyone suddenly so interested in suburbia?” Artie said.

 

Why don't you ask H.G., Myka thought sourly.

 

The room fell silent immediately and Myka looked up, meeting shocked gazes all around.

 

“Did I – oh,” she said, wincing.

 

H.G. put on an entirely false smile, and Myka stared hard at the ground.

 

“Myka –” Abigail began, concerned.

 

“Actually,” Myka said loudly. “I just remembered that I left my hardhat in Tropius 133, I should really go get that – ”

 

“I'll fetch it for you,” Helena said, unfolding herself from her chair. “Back in a flash.” Myka watched, dumbfounded, as Helena left, not quickly enough to be running, but close.

 

“Mykes --” Pete began, his mouth full of the pizza he'd demolished in – Myka checked her watch – a record fifteen minutes.

 

The computer beeped again, louder this time, screen flashing blue and purple and green in turn.

 

“That's not a routine neutralizer check-up,” Myka said with relief. It gave way immediately to concern as the beeping increased in volume.

 

Claudia scrambled to her feet, hovering behind Artie who was already at the computer, typing furiously.

 

“Artifact disturbances in – oh no.”

 

“What? Pete jumped up and down behind the rest of them, unable to see as they crowded around. “What is it, what is it?”

 

“ _Where_ is it?” Myka demanded.

 

“Five different disturbances in five different areas of the Warehouse, that's very odd, very very odd,” Artie said.

 

Claudia frowned, letting her eyes fall shut. “It doesn't feel like something is really wrong,” she said, concentrating. “The Warehouse isn't giving off any – vibes, I guess.”

 

“Maybe the Warehouse is just upset everyone's eating lunch instead of – ” Myka muttered under her breath, then grunted as Pete's elbow jabbed into her ribs.

 

“Let it go,” he said.

 

Artie frowned. “Aisle Hode I is very close to the Dark Vault. The artifacts there could cause major damage if they got beyond their aisle. Pete and Myka will take that one.”

 

“Then Steve and I will take care of the artifacts in Aisle Florence Kennedy,” Claudia said, peering at the screen over Artie's shoulder. Across the room, Steve tucked his Tesla into his jacket.

 

“Trailer and I will take Aisle Weaver,” Artie said. “Don't forget your Farnsworths.”

 

“Wait, wait. That's only three out of five!” Steve said.

 

“And what about me?” Abigail asked, affronted.

 

“Hode I and Weaver are both near Aisles Watson and Magnus Maximus, so we're pulling double-duty.” Pete explained.

 

“And you can come with us,” Claudia offered, smiling at Abigail.

 

“What about H.G.?” Steve said. “Someone should warn her that the Warehouse is having a temper tantrum.”

 

“I'll go,” Myka said automatically.

 

Artie clicked his tongue. “That's in the opposite direction – ”

 

“We're wasting too much time!” Pete interrupted. “Mykes and I will take care of Hode I, then Maximus; Steve and Claudia will take care of my main girls Watson and F.K.; Abby'll grab H.G.; Artie and Trailer will go to Weaver, and then we'll meet up near the Dark Vault to make sure nothing's disturbed it.”

 

“Sounds like a plan.” Claudia clapped her hands. “Let's go make sure the Warehouse doesn't blow up! Again.”

 

Artie winced.

 

“Too soon?” Claudia asked as everyone filed out.

 

 

*

 

Pete and Myka crept towards Aisle Hode I. Well, Pete crept. Myka barged ahead like she'd never heard of stealth.

 

“Mykes!” he hissed.

 

“Pete!” Myka returned, huffing. “The artifacts are already acting up, okay, being sneaky isn't going to get us anywhere.”

 

Pete crossed his arms, and tried not to wince. “Sure it will!”

 

“You just don't want to admit your stomach hurts too much to walk quickly.”

 

“It does not!”

 

“Maybe you shouldn't have had that last pizza.”

 

Pete's lower lip jutted out. “I can eat whatever I want. And besides, Steve didn't want it.”

 

“You're not a teenager anymore,” Myka teased, stepping into the aisle. “Maybe you should cut back on the – ”

 

“Mykes!”

 

Myka just barely managed to duck as a small dark object went hurtling past her head. “What the hell was that!” she shouted, squinting after it.

 

“Get the thingy!” Pete shouted, dropping to the ground and crab-walking towards her.

 

“What?” Myka tried to glare at Pete and keep low to the floor at the same time. “What thingy? What are you _doing_?”

 

“The thingy!” Pete hissed, pointing. “On the thing, it's right there!”

 

Another small dark thing flapped by, far too close to her face and she swallowed a shriek. “Pete, what are you –” Yet another object careened by and Myka dropped to the ground and crawled until she was next to Pete.

 

She risked a peek into the aisle. A large cage rattled ominously on the ground, far too close to them for her liking. The cage – one of Armeen Nuri's, a trusted advisor of King Cyrus of Persia, who had bred the finest carrier pigeons in all of the Achaemenid Empire – and spit out another squawking bird. “How do we get it?”

 

By 'it' Myka of course meant the neutralizer hose, but it was on the far end of the aisle and the bags in their pockets were far too small to douse the artifact wriggling on the ground. Irritatingly, the released pigeons seemed to enjoy flying back to roost upon the neutralizer hose.

 

“Uh, okay, uh, have you ever watched –” Pete took one look at Myka's face. “No, of course you haven't. Okay – ”

 

A bird screeched and Myka and Pete ducked in unison, faces an inch from the floor.

 

“Yeesh, someone should really Hoover here,” Pete said.

 

“Okay,” Myka said, pushing herself to her elbows. “I think we can make it to the hose if we crawl.”

 

“Right,” Pete said. “You distract them.”

 

“What! Why me?”

 

Pete wrinkled his nose. “Pigeons are like flying rats, and I –”

 

“Hate rats. Right.” Myka sighed. She counted quietly to three and leaped to her feet. She shouted, running to be in clear sight of the pigeons and then waving wildly. At the same time, Pete crawled towards the neutralizer hose.

 

“At least they don't have tentacles,” she told herself, and ran. The curious pigeons swooped after her, and Myka cringed.

 

She skidded briefly, turning into the neighbouring aisle and risked a quick glance behind her. She sped up immediately, heart racing as she tried to get away from the flapping brown and white swarm.

 

“Pete hurry up!” she yelled, and tried to lengthen her stride even more because she couldn't remember the artifact manifest mentioning what happened after the pigeons _caught up._

 

Myka heard a shout and squeezed her eyes shut as the energy of a neutralized artifact swept over her. She slowed to a halt, laughing breathlessly as another whoop sounded from the other aisle.

 

“Hey, hey, hey,” Pete cheered, holding his hands up for a double high five as he rounded the corner.

 

Breath mostly caught, Myka straightened and watched in amusement as Pete jogged closer. “Don't celebrate just yet,” she warned. “We still have Maximus to deal with.”

 

 

*

 

 

“Okay, Trailer. There are artifacts from all over the world in this aisle, from varying degrees of – ” Artie angled his head just _so_ as a bolt went whizzing past his head. “Power and –” Another bolt. “Unpredictability.”

 

Trailer woofed, impressed.

 

Weaver was the most unstable of the five aisles, Artie thought to himself. They'd need help. As Artie crouched next to the shelves, Trailer snarled at Emil Kocher's scalpel until it settled back into its place.

 

“Celestial globe, celestial globe, where is the celestial globe,” Artie muttered, rummaging through his ever-present black bag.

 

Trailer barked skeptically and Artie shook his head.

 

“Don't look at me like that. This celestial globe belonged to Amerigo Vespucci, they named the continent after him. Fascinating man –” Trailer barked. “Right, right. Anyway, with it, I can determine which artifact –” They ducked a stray bolt. “Is causing the primary disturbance, and then we can work from there. "Aha!” Artie held aloft an intricately carved globe. “Thought you could hide from me?” He hunched over the sphere, turning it very precisely one way, then adjusting his angle of vision minutely.

 

Trailer whined.

 

Artie barely looked up. “What is it, boy?”

 

Trailer whined again, louder.

 

There was a low growl that most certainly did not belong to the easy-going dog. Artie finally looked up, and yelped.

 

*

 

“We need a short cut,” Myka said.

 

“All right, let's go!” Pete turned to the left.

 

“Pete.”

 

He turned back on his heel, face as innocent as a lamb's. “Yeah, Mykes?”

 

“That's where the comic book aisle is.”

 

“Yeah, Mykes?”

 

“It'd be shorter if we went this way.” She pointed to the extreme right. Pete's face fell.

 

“But that's the dust aisle. That's the aisle where the _dust_ is an artifact.”

 

“Yep, so suit up.” Myka was already at the end of the Aisle Hode II, pulling on the dust-repellent full-body suit.

 

“I sneeze for like a month after this stupid aisle,” he grumbled.

 

“We're trying to contain the artifacts before they explode, or kill us, or both,” Myka reminded him, holding out a helmet. “We can't exactly afford to be picky.”

 

*

 

“We have to look on the bright side,” Claudia said.

 

“I hate you,” Steve replied.

 

“That is not being very bright.”

 

In front of them, the horse whickered.

 

Claudia swallowed a laugh with some difficulty. “Isn't he just the cutest thing? Let's go pet him.”

 

“Claudia, that thing is the size of an elephant!”

 

She wrinkled her nose. “Yeah, that's kinda weird, huh? I mean, it doesn't look like one of those Budweiser Clydesdale things.” She shrugged. “Still fits in the aisle.”

 

“That's not saying much!”

 

Claudia paused. “Fair point.”

 

The giant horse, perhaps sensing he was the subject of conversation, turned with a minimum of difficulty.

 

“Graceful, too,” Claudia noted.

 

He'd have no problem running us down, Steve thought, stepping back behind Claudia. He steadfastly ignored her snort of laughter.

 

The horse neighed and turned into a very large scorpion.

 

“The hell!” Steve caught Claudia as she scrambled backward.

 

“That's a scorpion,” he said.

 

“I noticed!”

 

“What just happened?”

 

“Why are you asking me?” Steve eyed Claudia skeptically, and she groaned. “Okay, I know why you're asking me. But Mrs F. hasn't taught me all that much about sensing the Warehouse yet; the connection is still strongest with her.”

 

“Defeated a villain from the sixteenth century,” Steve said, nudging an elbow into Claudia's ribs. “Can't find a single artifact in a single aisle.”

 

Claudia glowered. “Can, too,” she muttered, and Steve smirked. A grin tugged at the corner of her lips as her eyes fell shut. Steve waited as Claudia thought.

 

“Johnathan Swift's chart?” she said.

 

“Where is it and what does it do?”

 

“Uh,” Claudia scrunched up her eyes. “Hold on, I'm – still – I'm finding the – ”

 

She trailed off and Steve watched curiously as her expression cleared. The scorpion moved closer but Claudia didn't twitch. Steve got his Tesla out, wondering if their weapons would work against over-sized animal shape changers. Somehow he didn't think Nikola Tesla had planned for a giant scorpion monster within easy chomping distance of several dangerous artifacts and two agents.

 

Then again, maybe he had, seeing as he'd practically designed the Warehouse.

 

Still, he wouldn't like to test it. It was a very large scorpion, and it made very ominous clacking noises with its claws.

 

Claudia mumbled something and Steve tilted his head to hear her better even as he pulled her away from the slowly advancing Pandinus.

 

“Just playing – teasing – not hurting, just playful.”

 

The scorpion clacked his claws and Steve gritted his teeth. “Doesn't look so playful to me.”

 

“Little mischief – nothing harmful, just mischief.”

 

“Uh, Claud?” The scorpion tensed his tail and Steve cursed as he retreated, hand wrapped around Claudia's elbow. “Claud! Snap out of – Claudia, snap out of it!”

 

The scorpion didn't speed up, just moved forward steadily.

 

Steve pulled a little too hard on Claudia's arm and she stumbled beside him.

 

The scorpion flickered and Steve paused. The scorpion continued flickering and slowly, he stepped in front of Claudia. The scorpion clacked menacingly and turned into a horse.

 

Steve blinked.

 

“Whoa,” Claudia said behind him. “ _Whoa._ It's a proximity thing! I think maybe the artifact plays to your biggest fear --” she smirked at Steve “-- or your biggest animal-related fear, and projects a bigger-than-life image of it.”

 

The horse's swishing tail knocked an artifact off the shelf.

 

“Not an image,” Claudia corrected. “Right. You distract it and I'll go get the artifact.”

 

“No way!” Steve squawked.

 

“Do _you_ know where the artifact is?”

 

“Do _you_?”

 

“Well – no. But I know where to find it!”

 

“What, you'll know it if you see it? Great, great, just great,” Steve let himself be pushed forward – the horse was plenty scary, but the scorpion was worse, and potentially poisonous – as Claudia searched the shelves.

 

“Careful you don't scare the horse, it might bolt and trample us.”

 

Steve gripped his Tesla a little tighter.

 

“Right there!” Claudia darted, grabbed and neutralized in a smooth movement Steve momentarily envied.

 

“Watson did not give us this much crap,” he sighed as the scorpion sparked out of existence.

 

“Hey!”

 

Steve looked around. Pete waved back, grinning.

 

“Claud, Steve! Mykes, it's Claudia and Steve!”

 

“I can see them, Pete,” Myka said, jogging behind him. “Hey. Did you take care of both your aisles already?”

 

“Yeah. Steve was terrified, but I handled it.”

 

Pete held up a hand for a high five as Steve stared indignantly. Myka patted him on the shoulder.

 

“Guys! Guys!” Abigail ran up to them, waving and out of breath. “H.G.'s in Tropius, she's up on a shelf, she told me –” Abigail held up a finger and bent double, hands on her knees, gasping.

 

“What about H.G.?” Myka demanded.

 

“Go slower,” Steve cautioned. “Tell us again.”

 

“H.G.'s in Tropius – ”

 

“God, did she actually go to get Myka's hardhat?”

 

Myka's fists clenched at her sides. She hadn't left her hardhat in Tropius, she'd hung it up on the hooks next to Aisle Marganilia, like they were supposed to.

 

“She was on a shelf – like, really on a shelf, she'd climbed all the way up – and she said she'd figure it out but she wouldn't let me get too close so I figured something was really wrong and came to get you guys.”

 

“Let's go,” Myka said.

 

“Abby and I'll go deal with Maximus, then,” Pete said, and Myka started.

 

“Right,” she said quickly.

 

 

*

 

 

Claudia tackled Myka and Steve from behind. Somehow, she managed to angle her slight body just right and they all went crashing to the ground. A bolt went flying over them, ruffling the hair on their heads.

 

“Thanks,” Myka said, cheek squished against the hard floor. “Ow.”

 

“When did you get so strong – ow!” Claudia's knee dug into Steve's back.

 

“Sorry!” Claudia said, and got to her feet, mostly avoiding poking Steve or Myka with any more pointy limbs.

 

“Let's keep going,” Myka said. She made to walk away then turned around almost immediately. “There's another artifact disturbance.”

 

Steve and Claudia hadn't budged. “Yep,” Steve said.

 

“Aisle Fortin,” Claudia added.

 

“Your Caretaker superpowers are really coming in now, huh?” Steve asked.

 

“Yep,” Claudia replied. “I'll handle it. You and Steve go save H.G..”

 

Myka frowned. “I want Steve to go with you. It's too dangerous on your own.”

 

“I'm going to be the next --”

 

“Don't care,” Myka said. “Steve.”

 

“Got it,” Steve said. Claudia opened her mouth to protest, but Steve tugged her away.

 

 

*

 

 

Myka broke into a jog as she neared Tropius.

 

Then she paused.

 

No, she had definitely heard the sound of running water.

 

“H.G.?” she called tentatively. “H.G.?” she said, louder.

 

Myka started running, heart pounding in time to the rhythm of her feet hitting the ground.

 

*

 

 

“Maybe there's something wrong with Artie's artifact disturbance detecting system,” Abigail suggested.

 

“Yeah,” Pete said, straightening. “Maybe. Not so much as a crooked artifact marker here in good ol' Maximus.” He cracked his back, sighing in satisfaction.

 

A rat ran by, and Pete and Abigail both jumped, then exchanged sheepish smiles.

 

“Well, there's a rat.” Pete said. “But other than that, all's quiet on the Western front.”

 

“Myka was right, wasn't she? You never do stop referencing movies.” Abigail smiled.

 

“Not even for a minute,” Pete said proudly, puffing up.

 

Another rat ran by and Abigail wrinkled her nose. “Any chance we can convince Artie to call an exterminator? I really hate rats.”

 

“Oh, me too.” Pete said. “But Artie'll never do it, he's – ”

 

A pair of rats scampered past and Pete hopped backwards until he and Abigail were standing beside each other again.

 

“Um,” Abigail said.

 

“What,” Pete said, still squinting to see where the rats had gone.

 

Abigail gripped his shirt.

 

“Hey, whoa, careful with that. I gotta wear this for the rest of today, don't wrinkle it.”

 

“Pete, look.”

 

Pete turned. “Look at what – oh.”

 

 

 

*

 

Below her, Myka rammed her shoulder into the invisible wall that had trapped Helena and the rest of the artifacts inside the aisle. The artifact-created box stretched the length, width and – unfortunately – the height of Aisle Tropius 133.

 

The invisible box was no doubt the work of Marcel Marceau's face paint, Helena knew. His _The Cage_ routine, wherein he pretended to be trapped inside an invisible box, had been spectacularly popular, infusing his face paint with the tendency to trap unsuspecting people in a – well, an invisible box. It had been a particularly harrowing retrieval, Helena remembered.

 

But as to what was causing the the cage to fill with water, she had no idea. Warehouse 13 and Warehouse 12 had entirely different methods of sorting the artifacts and the former had changed them in the past two years. Possibly because of her, Helena thought.

 

She crawled to the edge of the aisle. “Myka,” she called. “Myka, that isn't going to work.”

 

Startled, Myka looked up. Helena saw relief in her eyes, followed immediately by the ill temper that Helena had been greeted with upon her return from Wisconsin.

 

“What the hell happened?” Myka shouted.

 

“I was rather hoping you could tell me,” Helena called back. “And quickly, the water is overflowing onto the topmost shelf.” Her fantastic leather boots were getting wet. “I'm quite distressed,” Helena added for good measure.

 

She was too high up to really see Myka's eye roll.

 

“Do you know which artifact it was?”

 

“There are two,” Helena said. The water sloshed alarmingly. “Marceau's face paint, and something else, I don't know what.”

 

“It's a start.” Myka worried momentarily at her bottom lip. “I'll go into the neighbouring aisle,” she said. “And try to get at the artifact from there and neutralize it.”

 

“You read my mind,” Helena shouted. A curious look passed over Myka's face, but she glanced away quickly and Helena couldn't read her eyes.

 

Myka started toward the adjacent aisle, rubbing her shoulder as she walked.

 

“Wait!” Helena scrambled to the end of the shelf overlooking the next aisle. “Wait! If you neutralize the face paint first, the water will flow out and – ”

 

“The Warehouse will flood!”

 

“Or a good chunk of it at least,” Helena finished.

 

They paused for a bit like that, and Helena chose not to mention the small wave that crashed over the aisles, soaking her boots.

 

 

*

 

 

“Okay, Abs. You and me.”

 

On his right, Abigail clutched Hammerin' Hank's baseball bat in one hand and a fistful of neutralizer bags in the other. “You sure this is going to work?”

 

“Two Warehouse agents armed with an uncharged Tesla, a baseball bat, and a rake against an army of huge rats?” Pete aimed said rake out in front of him. The rodents bristled as one, and he gulped. “No, not really. But we need to get to the artifact.”

 

“Wherever it is. Whatever it is.”

 

“Yep. I'll beat them off with the pointy stick. If they get to me before you find the artifact – ”

 

Abigail nodded grimly and turned to her task.

 

“Man, I wish Myka was here,” Pete said, and let loose a war cry.

 

*

 

 

“David Blaine's stack of cards?”

 

“No. Mark Wilson's hat?”

 

“No. Christopher Nolan's camera?”

 

“No. Harry Blackstone's handkerchief?”

 

“No. Harry Houdini's steel tackle?”

 

“No – yes!”

 

“Of course!” Myka exclaimed. “His famous Chinese Water Torture trick. That involved water – of course. Okay, I think it's on the same side as the face paint. Just – just hold on!”

 

“I'm holding,” Helena replied. The water was up to her ankles now, and steadily spilling over the sides of the aisle.

 

Helena waited, pacing along the shelf as Myka prowled through the aisle with Lincoln's walking stick. To prod the artifact closer to her, Helena supposed.

 

There was a sweep of unmistakable energy and she watched with glee as the water around her receded, leaving behind only the dampness in her boots.

 

“Now wait for it to return to a bearable level and neutralize the face paint,” Helena called.

 

“I know, H.G.,” Myka called back, but she sounded more amused than anything.

 

Certainly an improvement, Helena thought.

 

“Got it!” she shouted eventually.

 

Helena roused herself. “Try walking in to the aisle,” she called back.

 

“Way ahead of you,” Myka said, quieter. Helena scrambled to the edge and saw Myka grinning back up at her, far freer and much happier than she'd seen in weeks.

 

Helena exhaled softly, aimed a smile back, carefully.

 

“Now all you have to do is get down,” Myka said. Her smile hadn't dimmed.

 

Helena paused. “Yes. Um. I'm not quite sure how to do that.”

 

*

 

The Warehouse was feeling far too pleased with itself.

 

Mrs. Frederic sipped her tea and pondered. She wouldn't normally attribute a building – even one as unique as the Warehouse – with enough emotional range for smugness, but there was no other word for it. Perhaps the Warehouse did indeed become more and more like its humans over time.

 

Of course, the Warehouse's self-satisfaction probably boded poorly for its agents. The thought brought a smirk to her lips.

 

Her bodyguard, ever well trained, only started a little bit at the foreign expression.

 

 

*

 

Claudia was the only one there to greet them at the Dark Vault.

 

“Hi,” she said, pushing off the wall she had been leaning against. “Steve'll just be a minute, he had to refill a goo station. And, hey, good news: Fortin didn't give us any trouble at all. Also, I was going to check the Dark Vault's levels – ”

 

“"I'm glad you waited for --" Myka said.

 

“For a grown up, yeah, I know.” Claudia pursed her lips. “I am going to be the next Caretaker, you know.”

 

Myka sighed. “I know.”

 

Claudia continued, irritably. “I was going to say that I built something to check it electronically.” She held up an odd thick rectangular board with a thin black screen at the top, bristling with wires and conductors and insulators. “Actually, I modified it from one of Einstein's designs. He didn't think it could function, but all it needed was the Donovan Touch. With a capital T.” Claudia blew on her fingers and preened.

 

“May I see it?” Helena asked, intrigued.

 

“Hey.” Pete lurched out of the nearest aisle, Abigail in tow. Helena and Claudia looked up briefly from the neutralizer checker.

 

“There you are,” Myka said. “What took you so long?”

 

“Rats,” Abigail said, looking vaguely traumatized.

 

“We kicked ass though,” Pete said.

 

Myka blinked. “Right.”

 

There was a low groan, and conversation ceased. Myka and Pete moved to face the intruder, stepping in front of everyone else, Tesla drawn.

 

“Ow,” the voice said.

 

They replied in unison. “ _Artie?”_

 

The man stepped out from between the aisles and dripped purple goo.

 

Myka heard Claudia slap a hand over her mouth in a vain attempt not to laugh.

 

“Oh my God,” Abigail and Pete said together.

 

“Hey, guys,” Steve said, jogging up to them. He looked towards Artie and yelped, reaching for his Tesla before he caught himself.

 

“Our reaction exactly,” Helena said dryly.

 

Abigail looked around. “Hey, where's Trailer?”

 

There was a whine. The dog slunk out of the same aisle Artie had emerged from to almost unanimous cooing.

 

“Aw,” Pete said. “You're covered in goo!”

 

Trailer covered his nose with his paw shyly.

 

“Naw, buddy,” Pete said, crouching down. “It brings out your eyes.”

 

“Right. If one single person asks what happened to us, they will be on dusting duty for a whole month,” Artie said, using the inside of his jacket to wipe at his glasses. “Someone go check the neutralizer levels.”

 

Helena started. “Is that what caused this mess?”

 

“Probably,” Steve said. “Pete and I will go check.”

 

See, Myka wanted to say, everyone at the Warehouse worked in pairs, she wasn't doubting Claudia's abilities at all, but then Helena pursed her lips. “I knew that,” she said. “I saw the levels getting lower, but I thought someone else would – ” She took a deep breath. “I'm sorry. ”

 

“Dammit, Helena.” Myka hadn't meant to shout. She softened her tone, marginally. "You are not responsible for the _world_.”

 

Helena stared up at her, wide-eyed in a way Myka rarely got to see.

 

“I –” she said.

 

Steve emerged from the goo storage room almost immediately, and Helena looked away. “The neutralizer levels aren't low,” he said.

 

Pete followed behind. “Yeah, it's in the sweet zone. Nothing's happened before when the neutralizer with that high.”

 

“You think –” Steve said. “You think maybe the _Warehouse_...?”

 

Pete shrugged. “Completely possible.”

 

Claudia giggled. “Aw, Steve you weren't here, but a few years back, Pete pissed off the Warehouse, and it – ”

 

Pete stared at her. “We don't speak of that.”

 

“His lunch was replaced with caterpillars, it was the funniest thing – ”

 

“I went hungry for two days – ”

 

“More like two seconds – ”

 

“Okay, that is not nice – ”

 

“And besides you deserved it –”

 

“I didn't know the Warehouse was so sensitive!”

 

“How is it hard to figure out it'd hate being called a glorified lumber bin?”

 

“I never said that,” Pete hissed. “And even if I did, I didn't mean it.” He said the last part a little louder, looking around nervously.

 

*

 

“You're a little dusty,” Helena said quietly, and Myka turned to her. She reached up to brush a finger lightly against Myka's cheek and showed her the fine grey powder.

 

“Yeah, well.” Myka rubbed at her face, embarrassed. “I had to climb onto the shelves a little to get at the artifacts. And then I had to rescue a ladder so you could get down.”

 

Helena tilted her chin up. “I'll have you know that it's much easier to climb upwards than down.”

 

Myka raised an eyebrow. “Most house cats agree,” she said.

 

Helena huffed. “I am not a house cat.”

 

Myka smiled briefly, then looked away. “Listen – I'm sorry. About the way I've been treating you since you got back, I – ”

 

“It's all right,” Helena interrupted, smirking. “I fully expect you to make it up to me.”

 

After a startled pause, Myka smiled back.

 

*

 

Steve stopped mid-stretch to find Claudia staring expectantly at him. “Admit it,” she said.

 

“Admit what?” he asked.

 

“That I was right, that you had fun, that this was a good idea.” Claudia ticked off reasons on her fingers. “That I am the supreme ruler of all things awesome.”

 

“So just the usual,” Steve said.

 

Claudia shrugged. “Yeah.” She paused. “This was – ”

 

“Yeah,” Steve said, slinging an arm over her shoulder. “You know, I miss you a little bit when you're gone.”

 

Claudia aimed a light punch to Steve's stomach, and leaned into his side.

 

*

 

“Never again,” Pete said.

 

“Rats are the worst,” Abigail agreed, fist bumping him solemnly.

 

 

*

 

 

“Hey, Myka,” Steve said. “It's jazz night at the bar. Are you coming?”

 

Myka blinked. “I'd forgotten about that. Yeah, I think I will.”

 

“We should all go!” Pete said.

 

“Why do you want to go?” Abigail asked.

 

“Use the Force, Luke,” Claudia joked.

 

“Their pasta is _to die for,”_ Pete added.

 

“Force is a _Star Trek_ thing, right?”

 

Poor Claudia, Myka thought sympathetically. She looked like she was about to swallow her own tongue.

 

Claudia turned to Steve. “We can't go with you,” she said gravely. “Abigail and I are going to be busy tonight. And possibly a good chunk of tomorrow morning.”

 

“Doing what?” Abigail asked slowly, eyebrow arching.

 

“Get the popcorn ready,” Claudia ordered, grabbing Abigail's hand.

 

“Wait, was it _Star Wars_? I always get the two confused, I've never actually seen one all the way through,” Abigail was saying as she was dragged away.

 

Pete looked torn. “Do I want _Star Wars_ or do I want the bar's tomato mayonnaise sandwich,” he mumbled.

 

“What is a _Star Wars_?” Helena asked quietly, watching Abigail's plight with wary eyes.

 

Myka swallowed a laugh and whispered back, “A wildly popular series of films.”

 

“I see.”

 

She clearly didn't. “It's hard to explain. I'm sure Claudia and Abby wouldn't mind if you joined them.” Helena flicked her eyes away and too late Myka realized how it had sounded. “I mean we – I'd love it if you joined us too. I was just --” she gestured helplessly. “Just saying.”

 

“Oh,” Helena said, brightening. Myka smiled. She'd enjoy introducing Helena to jazz.

 

“Go home, all of you,” Artie said. “Trailer and I will stick around for a while longer. Tell Claudia not to hog my armchair.”

 

“Okay,” Pete called back.

 

“Trailer, we are going to have words with the Warehouse tonight,” Artie muttered. Beside him, Trailer whined.

 

Myka hung back, Helena at her side. “Hey, Artie?”

 

If Myka could reschedule the days they weren't out chasing artifacts, today's near-disaster could have been prevented, or at least minimized. Artie would let her, if she asked him now.

 

But Steve and Claudia wouldn't have spent some sorely needed time together, she wouldn't have stopped stewing in her own misery and accepted Helena's return, and – perhaps mostly importantly – Pete and Abigail wouldn't have bonded over their fear of rats. For us, Myka mused, thinking back to Pete's words, _this_ was family time.

 

“Yes, Myka?”

 

Helena's hand brushed warmly against hers and Myka smiled. “Nothing. See you tomorrow.”


End file.
